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Waiting For Orla Hunt

Orla Hunt runs throughThe fog and the wildernessTo the man with the cheap card sign.The badly well-dressed man,A joke in pinstripe and red tie,His grandfather’s cold old gaberdines would’ve suited him better.Than this.Orla Hunt may not be looking for a balding Travolta,But that’s what they’re getting.The man with the sign is there with a car waiting.Orla Hunt has been travelling for too long,And he’s texting impatience.To friends or family?I doubt it,His fingers are thickAnd rheumatic and slow on the screen.An employer it is then.You’re making him late,Orla Hunt,You’re late.

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